Page 139 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
“They’re all here,” I whisper, a little overwhelmed, a lot overjoyed.
Adam squeezes my hand.“They love you, too.”
I nod.“They love us.”
And he continues, “Oh they like us, exactly as we are.”
I smile.Knowing he’s quotingBridget Jones’ Diarybecause of what I told him the first time we kissed.And when he kisses me, it’s with the intensity of a kind guy who knows exactly how to unravel me.
And as Blanche finally breaks formation to demand pets, and Dorothy yips at the waves, and LoverBoy runs around and Mama Bear Sophia watches us all, I know.This is it.
This is love.Not the curated,matching-mugs-in-a-Cape-Cod-kitchenkind.(Even though we do have those.Claire got me my first, and now I collect them up and down the Cape.)
Not the kind I tried to force with Chuck by being quieter, easier, smaller.Total#CoupleGoalson the outside, unraveling on the inside.
This is the real thing.The kind you choose even when the dishwasher’s broken and your emotional support pickle has baggage.The kind where I get to be fully me—cold, warm, anxious, brave, silent, loud, or all of that at once (early-treatment perimenopause for the win)—and still be loved for it.
And I get to love him back.For who he was.For who he is now.For every version still unfolding.To appreciate every soft, stubborn, steady inch of him.
It’s not always puppies and butterflies. Sometimes it’s slamming a door you didn’t mean to, then apologizing with your arms wrapped around each other and your voice steadier than it was the first time.It’s talking when your nervous system’s more regulated (thanks, therapy), and laughing at nothing because your eyes just met across the room.
It’s us.
Second chances aren’t about rewriting the past.They’re about owning every plot twist that got you here and saying, “Yeah.I’ll take this ending.This new beginning.”
My mom and his grab the dogs, whispering.“You two need a bit of privacy.”
Margaret winks at me.“Lady Grey says hi.And I have a book for you.”
Adam groans.“Mom…”
“Going, going, gone…” She chuckles.
The waves crash softly in the distance, but all I hear is his voice, his hand sliding to my waist, fingers dipping just under the hem of my sweater.
“We should probably give Dickle and Brain the night off,” he says, all low heat and mischief.“They’ve seen things.Even they deserve boundaries.”
I laugh, breathless, as he draws me in tighter, his mouth trailing heat along my neck
“Plus, the newest AdamPro is charged.Those charging cables are a game changer.I’m charged, too.And page thirty-seven?It would make them combust.”
“Are you going to wear the antlers, too?”
“Anything you want.”
And I kiss him.Slow, deep, entirely indecent for a public beach.Something I never do (still not big on PDA), but it feels like we’re alone right now.
Somewhere in the distance, my grandmother calls out, only half hiding her amusement.“We’ll meet you two at home!”
“Eventually,” Kellan mutters under his breath, followed by Dorothy’s triumphant bark and what sounds like Blanche herding everyone up the boardwalk.
We don’t move.We don’t even try.We’re kissing again with snowflakes melting between us, my toes already numb in my boots, half neuropathy, half winter chill.I know without asking that he’ll warm them later with those capable veterinarian hands.My mascara is probably smudged, and my hair is a wind-tangled mess, but neither of us cares.
Love doesn’t always look tidy.
Sometimes it looks like scars and soft touches and someone learning every part of you.
Sometimes it looks like midnight laughter and morning shower.Sometimes it looks like this.
